i'll fight for you until i win (you're inked upon my very skin)
by images-in-words
Summary: Santana and Rachel are best friends living in New York City. Santana discovers the underground world of cage fighting while Rachel explores the equally underground world of magic. The two worlds collide when Santana finds out how dark magic is being used to enhance the stable of fighters sponsored by the sinister Russell Fabray and managed by his beautiful daughter Quinn. (AU)
1. Chapter 1

**i'll fight for you until i win (you're inked upon my very skin)**

 **chapter one**

When she had first heard of the underground cage fighting scene, Santana Lopez hadn't thought it to be a literal description. Yet here she was, beneath the streets and sidewalks of the sprawling metropolis she had now called home for six months, watching a pair of young and deadly women stalk each other with the feral grace of lithe, powerful jungle cats inside the imposing steel structure that surrounded the ring. The hustle, the bustle, the noise and constant motion of the city above them was non-existent here. Here, the crowd watched in rapt silence as the red-headed "Sweet" Sugar Motta focused her hungry gaze upon her opponent, a grim-faced African-American girl who went by the single name of Aphasia. Keen-eyed, they watched each other prowl around the ring, each trying to somehow determine the other's strengths and weaknesses just from the way she moved.

Sugar was what Santana would call a glider, all economy of motion and silent intensity; her feet barely seemed to touch the ground as her eyes followed the other girl's movements. She was small in stature, but her body was all lean, ripped muscle, tense as a coiled spring, ready to explode at any given moment. Her opponent was taller and heavier, having chosen to bulk up rather than lean down, with the obvious intent of overpowering the shorter, lighter girl. They each wore a simple cut-off tank top and skin-tight shorts, meant to be both comfortable and easy to move in. Both athletes' muscles, so exposed by the minimal clothing, rippled in the harsh overhead lights; already each girl's body was covered in a light sheen of sweat, thanks to the heat generated by the illumination and the close press of the audience, all hunched forward in their seats, eager to see which girl would make the first move.

Aphasia suddenly rushed forward, her taped fists and feet a surprisingly swift blur of movement, but Sugar easily dodged her advance, landing a punch to the other girl's face as she darted away. She smiled sweetly, as though her opponent had just offered her candy or flowers, and not just attempted to grab her in a bone-crushing hold. Then she lashed out with a kick to Aphasia's leg. The taller girl cried out in pain, going down to one knee. She kept her hands up to protect her face, leaving her midsection, which was not quite as chiseled as Sugar's ridged six-pack, exposed. Still smiling, Sugar launched a flurry of kicks at Aphasia's torso, landing several hard blows against her chest and stomach. Suddenly flat on her back, Aphasia was bewildered at how strong her smaller opponent was; then all thoughts flew out of her head as Sugar pounced upon her, gripping at and maneuvering her limbs into a complex configuration that produced the most intense pain she had ever felt in her life. Shrieking in agony as she felt her bones and muscles pushed beyond the limits of their design by Sugar's submission hold, she somehow managed to signal her corner that she had had enough, and Sugar disentangled herself to stand with her arms raised in victory as the audience roared its vociferous approval.

Santana found herself cheering right along with the rest of the crowd as Sugar helped her vanquished opponent to her feet, her corner people rushing into the ring to assist in keeping the defeated girl standing upright. It was exhilarating and exciting, and Santana couldn't take her eyes off Sugar as she pranced around the ring, blowing kisses at her adoring fans.

It was then that she knew she would not be content with merely watching this most unusual of competitions from the safety of a ringside seat. No, she realized, this was what she wanted to do with her life. Whatever it took, she was going to get in that ring herself, and she was going to become the best damned cage fighter this city had ever seen - because she was Santana freaking Lopez, and that was how she rolled, Lima Heights style.

* * *

Rachel Berry, she would have you know, was excellent at many things: singing, acting, dancing, interacting with the spirit world. She would smile and laugh heartily at your reaction to that last item on the list, then insist that it was not a joke; it was, in fact, completely true. This was why everyone who knew her in high school knew that she was, in her words, 'a little bit psychic.' In fact, there were spirits watching over her, grateful that from the time she was a little girl, she had always taken the time to speak with them, to comfort them over their separation from the world of the living, and they always let her know when a slushy attack was coming, or when her mentor, Mr. Schuester, was thinking about who should get the solo in the next Glee Club competition. Now Rachel was a young up and coming musical theater actress, auditioning for and getting the roles off-Broadway that she knew would eventually lead her to the big stages and bright lights of the true Broadway stage. In the meantime, she was paying her rent by lending her special expertise to those in need of solace and guidance in matters of the afterlife. Ironic, she thought, that she was making a living out of her unique ability to see into and influence the world of the unliving. But even she didn't have a clue as to just how powerful she really was – not until the day, six months to the date that her roommate Santana had seen her first underground cage fight, that she began to feel that something was amiss on the magical plane, to whose wavelength she was always attuned.

Santana had been working and training diligently at Holliday's Gym, the place where all the best and brightest fighters worked to hone their skills, since shortly after that fateful night when she had seen Sugar Motta defeat the singularly named Aphasia. She had come home to the apartment she shared with Rachel raving about how 'awesome' and 'amazing' and 'incredible' the evening had been, how much she wanted to become a fighter, how she would do just about anything to get in the ring and dominate opponents the way 'that Sugar chick' had. Rachel hadn't really understood the appeal, but Santana was her best friend, and as such she was bound to support and encourage her in whatever she wanted to do. She fretted about the danger, the risk of injury and so on and so forth, but it had done wonders for the girl's attitude - and for her body as well, she had to admit. Not that Rachel would ever mention that last part to her girlfriend, the city's most talented young sorceress, Tina Cohen-Chang.

Rachel had met Tina at a gathering of the city's best and brightest magical practitioners under the age of 25, sitting next to each other during an incredibly dull presentation by the insufferably vain and boring Dustin Goolsby, a man whose lack of arcane skill was apparently made up for by his wealthy family's generosity in contributing to the city's many secret magical foundations. This, of course, qualified him to expound for hours on end about what was good for the magically gifted population of the nation's largest and grandest city.

They'd shared "are you kidding me?" looks several times during Goolsby's long-winded talk, which then turned into smiles and laughs and quickly became an obvious, but shyly approached attraction. When Rachel mouthed, "Let's get out of here," Tina was only too happy to mouth back, "Oh, god yes." They had gotten up and exited quietly, stifling their laughter with hands over their mouths, finally letting go when they were out of the room and safely away, standing together in the spacious lobby area.

"That man is completely ridiculous," Rachel said when their laughter had finally subsided to weak chuckles and gasps. "His magical abilities just _barely_ rise above the level of card tricks and retrieving coins from behind children's ears, and he's lecturing _us_ on what's good and proper in the use of – as he calls it – 'the Art?' Oh, please."

"I know, right? All bluster and no brain, that's our Goolsby." Tina's bright smile faded to a small frown. "My parents have been trying to get the Inner Council to dismiss him for years, but his family is so rich and has so many members of the Council in their pocket, they can never get enough votes to give him the boot in the ass he deserves. Every time they think they've got him, someone who said they were going to vote against him suddenly changes his or her vote at the last second, and somehow, he survives like the proverbial cockroach after the nuclear war."

Rachel felt a strong urge to comfort the other girl just then, but instead of hugging her, as she wanted to do, she offered her hand for Tina to shake. "You know, we haven't been formally introduced yet. I'm Rachel. Rachel Berry, medium and future Broadway star."

Tina's eyebrows rose at that; she was impressed by the absolute confidence in Rachel's melodious voice. Taking Rachel's small, warm hand in hers, she asked, "'Future Broadway star?' Are you a clairvoyant in addition to being a medium?"

"No, but I don't have to be a clairvoyant to know that one day I'm going to be a star of both stage and screen. I just have to believe in my talent and not let anyone or anything stand between me and my dreams."

Tina chuckled, completely taken with Rachel's unapologetic self-assuredness. The girl didn't come off as brash or conceited; she merely spoke as if what she was saying was a _fait accompli,_ a fact that simply hadn't yet occurred. Tina found it to be both charming and highly attractive.

"Well, if you believe it that much, then I guess I have no choice but to believe it too, Ms. Berry. After all, who am I to argue with as yet uncrowned musical theater royalty?"

Just as Rachel was about to ask Tina for her name, a nervous-looking young member of the event staff carrying a tray filled with glasses of champagne shuffled up to them, clearing his throat to announce his presence. They had been so wrapped up in each other that they hadn't noticed his approach.

He kept his eyes upon his precariously balanced tray, clearly afraid it would tip over and spill the drinks everywhere. "Excuse me, Ms. Cohen-Chang. Would you and your...friend like some champagne?"

Tina smiled sweetly at the burdened young man as she and Rachel each took a glass of the sparkling beverage; she didn't miss the wide-eyed expression of surprise on the shorter girl's face at the mention of her family name.

"Thank you...Jerry," she said, peering at the name tag pinned to the black vest he wore over his white shirt, the black bow tie at his neck slightly askew. She flicked her fingers, and Rachel felt a tingle in her spine that she somehow knew meant that magic had just been used.

The young man gasped in shock as he realized what Tina had just done. The heavy tray now felt perfectly balanced, and light as a feather. He knew he would have no further trouble carrying it, or anything else, this evening, thanks to the subtle charm that Tina had just cast.

"You're welcome, Ms. Cohen-Chang," he replied brightly. Rachel handed him a couple of bills, and his sincere smile grew wider. "And you, Ms. Berry. You ladies have yourselves a wonderful evening, and please find me if you require anything else."

Tina nodded and Rachel returned a smile at the young man as he left them, walking away with a spring in his step.

Taking a sip of the bubbly drink, Tina murmured, "Mmm. The champagne is excellent. Compliments of Russell Fabray, I assume." She made a face, as though the mention of the name had soured the contents of the glass. "The man has his faults, but he _does_ know his fine adult beverages."

"So you're Tina Cohen-Chang, daughter of Stephen Cohen and Naomi Chang, authors of _the New Magicians' Guide to Zen Jewish Mysticism,_ and one of the city's most lauded young practitioners of the New Arcane," Rachel exclaimed. "I should have known. I _thought_ I recognized you, but I wasn't quite sure. Honestly, that stunning photo on the cover of last month's _New Arcane Digest_ didn't do you justice."

"Guilty as charged. I owe it all to clean living, great genetics, and excellent lighting," Tina replied, laughing. "And actually, I've heard a bit about you too, Ms. Berry - "

With a wave of the hand not holding the glass of champagne, Rachel cut her off. "It's Rachel. Please. Only fans and my lawyers call me Ms. Berry."

"All right, then. Rachel it is. And you can call me Tina. No need to be formal, despite these ridiculous gowns they insist on making us wear to these functions," Tina responded, gesturing to her cream-colored dress and Rachel's burgundy outfit. "As I was saying, I've heard a bit about you as well, Rachel. Your skills as a medium have stirred more than a little interest among the paranormally inclined. I happen to think there's even more to you than that, though. With the right focus and attention, you could become something very special, magically speaking."

Rachel blushed, pleased to receive this high praise from a such a well-regarded – and beautiful – peer in the magical community.

"And may I also say," she continued, gazing intently at Rachel over the rim of her champagne glass as she took another sip, "In all seriousness, that you look absolutely amazing in that gown. It highlights your skin tone and your dark hair and eyes really, really well."

It had been some time since Rachel had received glowing compliments like this, especially from someone as attractive as the woman standing across from her. She hadn't dated anyone seriously in a while, what with graduating from NYADA, auditioning for roles, and establishing her business as an accredited, licensed medium; there simply never seemed to be enough time for a personal life. But now, as she stared into Tina's eyes over her own glass of golden beverage, she began to feel that something special was happening between them, and if nothing else, Rachel Berry knew how to seize the moment.

"Um," she began, smiling the smile she used (infrequently) to cover her nerves, "I don't know if this is too forward, but I...I would really like to continue this conversation over dinner – if - if you don't have any other plans, of course."

Tina was surprised, but she didn't let it show on her face. She'd been hoping that Rachel felt the same pull of attraction that she did, yet she hadn't expected that the short girl with the dazzling, stage-worthy smile, would act upon it so quickly.

Returning Rachel's smile, she responded, "I would _love_ to go to dinner with you. I'm starved, and this conference is way too boring. Did you have a place in mind?"

Rachel sighed happily. "Actually, I did. I do. It's a wonderful little restaurant, not too far away from here. We can take a cab if you like, or we can walk. Whatever you prefer -"

Suddenly, a loud noise, like the crash of thunder, came from the room they had left a few moments earlier.

"What was _that?_ " Rachel asked. The champagne glass she had dropped lay forgotten at her feet, the little liquid that was left quickly soaking into the carpet. The screams and cries of panic and terror that began to emanate from the room through the closed door answered her question: nothing good.

Tina grabbed Rachel's wrist, throwing her own glass to the side. "Come on. We're going in!"

The sight that greeted them when they burst through the door was something that neither of them would ever forget. It was in that moment that their mettle as magicians was first tested. It was also the moment that their bond was truly born...

* * *

Rachel opened her eyes, realizing that she'd gotten lost in her memories. As her focus returned, she realized that Santana was looking at her with that familiar blend of annoyance and concern: concern that Rachel's magical ability had brought her into contact with something less than benevolent; annoyance because she had been trying tell the girl something when she'd slipped into her trance.

"Rachel?" she was saying, frustration evident in her voice. "Hey, short stack. Are you with me? Are you all right? Come on, talk to me, damn it!"

"I'm okay, Santana. Sorry...I kind of got lost in my head for a moment there. Please forgive me," Rachel apologized sheepishly. "You were saying something about a fight?"

Santana sighed, but she couldn't find it in herself to be angry at her best friend. She was too excited by the news she was about to share. "Not just _a_ fight, Rachel. _My_ fight. As in, my _first_ fight! They finally told me who I'm going to face when I get in the ring for the first time. Damn, I'm so excited! Please, _please_ say you're happy for me."

Rachel pulled her roommate into a tight hug, grateful that she wasn't angry with her for zoning out the way she had. As they separated from the embrace, Rachel said, "Of course I'm happy for you, Santana. Despite the fact that I continue to harbor misgivings about you possibly being hurt or maimed or possibly crippled for life, you know that if this is what you want to do, as your best friend, I support you one hundred per cent. But are you absolutely _sure_ you're ready for this?"

"Look, Rachel. I appreciate your concern, I really do, but Coach Tanaka and the training staff at Holliday's are the best in the city. They've got me in the best shape of my life, sharpened my natural skills, and given me all the strategic pointers I could possibly need. So yeah, I'm ready. I'm _more_ than ready."

The two young women shared a smile, each knowing how much the other meant to them. They had been friends for a long time now, and the love and loyalty between them was incredibly strong. Santana had been there for Rachel through thick and thin, through insane, evil dance instructors, frenzied audition preparations, and more than a few very scary moments when Rachel's abilities had caused...things to manifest in their apartment at unexpected times. In turn, Rachel had been there for Santana through times of uncertainty and depression, from the lowest of lows - when her best friend had wondered whether or not she had done the right thing in moving to the city - to the highest of highs, when she had gotten the job at Holliday's and was accepted into their training program soon after that.

"Well, then," Rachel said, rising from the couch on which they'd been sitting together and grabbing her phone from the small table next to it. "I'll be right there in the front row to cheer you on. And I'll call Tina, Kurt and Mercedes to make sure they'll be there as well." Then she paused in mid-dial. "What's your unlucky opponent's name, anyway?"

"Cruz. Rosario Cruz." The feral smile on Santana's face told Rachel all she needed to know about what the girl thought of her soon-to-be adversary. Seeing that cold, determined smile, a shiver ran down Rachel's spine. Suddenly she felt very sorry for Miss Cruz.


	2. Chapter 2

**i'll fight for you until i win (you're inked upon my very skin)**

 **chapter two**

The Fabray stable was comprised of some of the best fighters in the country, all young, talented and hungry for success. Their names were spoken of with great respect by everyone involved in the underground: Finn Hudson, Joe Hart, Blaine Anderson, Matt Rutherford, Sunshine Corazon, Dottie Kazatori. In fact, Santana's just-announced opponent, Rosario Cruz, was the latest addition to the Fabray team, having spurned an offer from Holly Holiday and her partner in Holliday's Gym, Shelby Corcoran, to join the Holliday stable. No doubt it was the well known fact that the deep pockets of Russell Fabray had provided his stable with the best of everything - including a state of the art training facility outfitted with all the best, latest equipment and run by a coaching and support staff that was second to none in the cage fighting world - that had made the choice a simple one for the much-sought after Ms. Cruz. Even the head trainer, Cooter Menkins, was a former champion fighter himself, and everyone under him, from the chefs to the nutritionists to the physical therapists, had to be the absolute best in the business, because only the best would do for Russell Fabray's team.

But most sharp-eyed watchers of the underground cage fighting scene - the ones who went to all the matches and paid attention to what was really going on - felt that the key to the Fabray stable's success was its young manager, Quinn Fabray, a beautiful blonde who had graduated from Yale just a year ago. She was seen as the heir apparent to the Fabray empire, answering only to her older sister and her father, a rising star on the business side of the sport. She rarely gave interviews, but those few who had been lucky enough to speak with her found that she was intelligent as she was gorgeous, possessed of a keen wit and a complete inability to suffer fools gladly. More than one questioner had found himself leveled by her icy hazel-eyed stare, especially in combination with her signature single eyebrow raise. When that eyebrow went up, danger was clearly in the air; it was impossible for the recipient of that tell-tale gaze not to squirm in his seat and look for the nearest exit.

Quinn had been told she was beautiful all her life, but she wanted to be known for more than that. She wanted to be respected for her mind, not lusted after for her looks. Unfortunately, the head trainer had either not gotten that memo, or he simply didn't care. Every time she was in the Fabray training facility – the location of which was so secret even the fighters didn't know where it was, since they were blindfolded before the bus even started moving – Cooter Menkins' eyes rarely met hers. This was because they seemed to be glued to her ass at all times. To say she found this annoying was an understatement of epic proportions. She hated the man, but whenever she voiced her complaints about his behavior to her father, they were rebuffed because he was "a winner," in his words, and winning was all that mattered in the world of Russell Fabray. It made her seethe with anger, but she had no choice but to clench her jaw and restrain herself from tearing him a new one every time he leered at her.

" _What?"_ she hissed at the man, tearing her eyes from the training schedule on the clipboard in her hand, as she felt her skin crawling with the familiar sensation of him undressing her with his eyes.

"Nothin', darlin'. Just admiring how f-i-n-e _fine_ you look today," he drawled, lips curling up in that unpleasant smile she had come to despise. "You all dressed up 'cause you're meetin' someone special after work? I surely hope not."

She closed her eyes and counted to ten silently, willing the rage she felt not to show up in her face. Seriously, would it kill him to _not_ be an asshole for just one day?

"Not that it's any business of yours, but no. I'm not actually dressed any differently than I am any other day. You just don't notice because you're always too busy imagining what's _under_ my clothes."

"Hey, it's not a sin to admire a beautiful young lady. Y'know, you really need to loosen up and learn how to take a compliment. That's the whole problem with women these days. They don't know how to have fun anymore."

"I suspect that your definition of _fun,_ Mr. Menkins, is vastly different from mine. And that of every other woman on the planet," Quinn shot back coolly.

Unfazed, the coach replied, "Aw, call me Cooter." The tone of his voice bordered on lascivious. It made Quinn want to take a shower. She repressed the urge to shudder.

"I most certainly will _not."_ Wanting to change the subject quickly, she returned her eyes to the paper on the clipboard. "Now, what's this about... _tattoos?_ Would you care to explain why Hudson, Anderson and Hart are taking time out of their daily training regimens to be getting tattoos?"

"Your dad n' your sister didn't tell you, darlin'? Gosh, I thought they told you everything," Menkins mocked. He didn't even try to keep the glee he felt at her embarrassment from showing in the smug grin on his face.

"Clearly, that's not the case." Quinn was seriously irritated now. How was she supposed to manage this team if information was being kept from her? "Now, are you going to answer my question, or are you just going to stand there looking dumb?"

"Hell if I know. The order came from your daddy. Frannie told me not more n' an hour ago, before you got here."

 _Frannie. Of course._ "Mr. Menkins, I was here and in my office before you were. I know that because all the time scans come directly to my computer, and _you_ were late."

"Yeah, well, she called me and told me to put that on the schedule." The coach paled, and his expression turned serious. "Said it was a direct offer from your daddy, didn't explain more n' that. And I didn't ask. You probably know better n' me that it's never a good idea to ask Mr. Fabray to explain something. Whatever he wants done, _gets_ done, no questions asked. That's rule number one around here."

Quinn sighed. "Okay – so, do you know _where_ they're getting these tattoos done?"

"Nope, 'fraid not. I just know that they're s'posed to be outside and waiting at ten o'clock sharp. A car's going to come and pick 'em up, and then they're gonna get inked. What's the big deal, anyway? It's probably just a team unity sorta thing, like they're gonna get a nifty Team Fabray logo on their arm, shoulder, wherever. Nothin' to worry about."

That was where Quinn disagreed; where her father was concerned, there was _always_ something to worry about. Ever since her and Frannie's mother had disappeared while Quinn was still in college, the man had changed. He had become even more distant, darker and colder even than he had been when she was a girl. Now she barely recognized him. It seemed that there was nothing left in him of the father she had loved as a child.

"All right, then. Ten o'clock?" She looked at her watch. "That's fifteen minutes from now. Where are Hudson, Anderson and Hart?"

"I expect they're in the locker room getting ready to go. You want to talk to 'em first?"

Quinn pursed her lips, thinking. Damn, she hated surprises. And she had so many other things to do.

"No," she said after a few moments. "Just make sure they're out there at ten. My father will be very unhappy if they're late. You know how he _hates_ it when people are late." She fixed the coach with a withering glare, eyebrow raised, daring him.

Cooter Menkins was many things, but completely stupid he was not. Recognizing the reference to his own tardiness in Quinn's pointed statement, he cleared his throat, straightened his stance and responded lowly, "Yes, ma'am. I'll make sure they're right on time."

"Good. Well, then, I think we're done here. The next time I see you, you should have everyone who's not getting themselves mutilated this morning in the ring and sparring."

Hearing the dismissal in her voice, he turned on his heel and exited without a word. When he was out of her sight, she allowed herself a small smile. She would take her victories where she could get them.

* * *

Blaine Anderson was not in the best of moods as he zipped up his Team Fabray hooded sweat jacket and shouldered his duffel bag. Ever since he had started fighting, his long time boyfriend had been after him to quit. He knew it was only because Kurt cared about him, that he was worried that he would get seriously hurt in the ring; but ever since the throat surgery had taken the dream of performing on Broadway from him, Blaine had found solace in the only other thing he felt as passionate about – fighting. Granted, he'd thought it would be in the boxing ring and not in the cage, but strangely, it turned out that the cage fighting world was far more accepting of openly gay competitors than the boxing world.

Kurt had been getting more and more insistent about his objections, pleading with him almost every night to stop fighting and consider doing something, _anything,_ else with his life. It was becoming more and more difficult for them to deal with the strain this placed on their relationship, and last night, things had finally come to a head.

"Kurt, please," he'd said as he lowered still sore, aching body into one of the kitchen chairs, hoping to forestall the nightly conflict. "It's been a long day, and I would really, _really_ like to just relax on the couch, watch TV and _not_ fight with you tonight."

Kurt stood before him with his arms crossed, his eyes flashing with anger. Even though this argument would likely end the same way as all the ones before, but no matter – he was going to have his say regardless. That was the way he'd always been, and he wasn't about to change now.

"No. No, Blaine. This – this – _thing_ you've been doing...it's gone far enough. It's gone _too_ far. You know what kind of person Russell Fabray is. Nothing good can come of being associated with anything he's involved in. I can't – I _won't –_ just stand by and watch you get hurt, or crippled, or worse, just to put more money in that man's pocket. I'm begging you, Blaine. You'e the love of my life. I can't bear to watch you destroy yourself over something that wasn't your fault. The surgery -"

" - was a long time ago, Kurt. Why can't you just accept that this is my dream now? Why can't you just be happy that I found something else I love almost as much as I loved singing? I'm making great money now, more than I ever did when I was trying to get on Broadway, finally able to pull my weight around here with the rent and the bills and all that, and now you – you want to take _another_ dream away from me?"

Blaine would never be able to forget the stricken look on Kurt's face as he'd said these words. Words he could never take back. Words that he knew were the final straw for the person he'd loved since high school.

"Blaine...I love you, but...if you can't see how harmful – how _insanely dangerous_ \- this is...if you can't stop for _my_ sake, if not your own...then -" Kurt had said softly, choking back tears as he took back the hand he'd placed over Blaine's, "Then I can't be with you. We can't be together anymore. I'm sorry."

"No, Kurt – wait, please. I – I didn't mean what I said. You have to know that."

"Maybe you didn't mean it. Or maybe you did. Either way, you're not going to stop doing what you're doing. You're going to keep letting yourself get beaten to a bloody pulp because you think you're not worth anything if you can't sing. Well, that's _your_ choice. And it's _my_ choice not to watch it."

Blaine had sat there at the kitchen table with his mouth working as if to speak, but no words could find their way out. He'd wanted desperately to call Kurt back from the bedroom to which he'd marched, wanted to tell him to stop throwing his clothes and other things into the designer travel bag Blaine had bought him before their last vacation together, beg him not to leave -

"I'm going to stay with Mercedes for a while," Kurt had said tonelessly a few minutes later when he returned to the kitchen, letting the bag drop at his feet. His pale complexion had looked almost ghostly in the glow of the overhead kitchen light. Blaine's heart broke at the sad, defeated expression Kurt had worn as he'd buckled the belt on his long purple coat. "You can stay here and figure out where you're going to go next. Maybe one of your fighting friends has an extra room or a doghouse or something."

He'd slung the bag wearily over his shoulder then, burdened by far more than the weight of its contents.

"Good luck, Blaine. If you ever figure yourself out and decide you don't want to get killed in front of a live audience, call me."

A sad smile and a few steps later, he was out the door, and it was over. Kurt was gone.

* * *

He should have paid attention to the small voice in his head that sounded a lot like Kurt when it registered unease at Coach Menkins' announcement about the tattoos. Like everyone else, he'd heard the rumors of Russell Fabray's involvement in less than savory activities, but discounted them as the jealous ramblings of those who had never achieved a fraction of the success that Russell had. But when he'd heard the nervous hesitation in the head trainer's voice as he told them why they wouldn't be training as usual, something registered as being very much off.

Now as he sat with Finn and Joe in the back seat of the luxurious town car that sped along towards their mysterious destination, he wondered if maybe there was something to those rumors. He didn't know _why,_ exactly, but he felt strange about the whole thing. Maybe it was just leftover grief from the breakup with Kurt. He did feel as though he was walking around in something of a fog after not sleeping very well; it was the first time he'd slept alone in a long time. Perhaps he just wasn't thinking clearly.

Finn and Joe certainly didn't seem bothered by anything at all. Finn wore the same goofy half-smile on his face that he always did, joking around with the usually solemn, introspective Joe, who had tied his long dreadlocks up today. Music wafted softly into the air through the car stereo speakers, one catchy pop tune after another. In another time, not so long ago, he would have been singing along with each one. Now he was silent, lost in his thoughts, watching the scenery flash by without really seeing it.

The others had sensed his gloom earlier, but didn't approach him; they figured that if he wanted to talk about it, he would say something. And knowing him as they did, they didn't expect it.

When the car finally came to a stop, they were shocked to see where they had been brought. The name atop the black wrought iron gate announced it clearly.

 _Fabray._

"Holy crap," Finn whispered. Joe's eyes bulged.

Blaine felt his unease intensify as the small voice in his head that sounded like Kurt began to scream incoherently. Why were they all the way out here, in the middle of nowhere, at the grand yet strangely forbidding Fabray estate? Weren't there, like, a million tattoo studios in the city? What the _hell_ was going on?

The nameless driver, in his crisply pressed dark suit and mirrored sunglasses, opened the door next to Blaine. He leaned in and showed unnervingly white teeth in a predatory smile.

"Okay, boys," the driver said. His voice sounded like gravel under tires. "We've arrived. Mr. Fabray is waiting for you. Let's go."

"Does anyone else have a bad feeling about this?" Joe asked.

No one answered. None was needed.


	3. Chapter 3

**i'll fight for you until i win (you're inked upon my very skin)**

 **chapter three**

It was at that very moment that Rachel felt something amiss on the magical plane. She knew that Tina had felt it too, because their relationship had bonded them magically as well as emotionally. Something dark and terrible was taking place not too far away. They couldn't pinpoint exactly _where,_ just yet. There was so much dark energy swirling about that it was impossible to do anything more than _feel_ it. Rachel's bones ached with with it.

Her phone rang, and she knew that it would be one of two people calling: Tina, to discuss whatever the ominous fluctuation of magical energy could be; or Santana, to let her know that she had gotten to the gym safely and was about to begin her work day. So she was surprised, to say the least, to see that it was Mercedes on the line instead.

"Hello and good morning, Mercedes. To what do I owe the pleasure of hearing your voice today?" she greeted, trying to be her usual cheerful self in spite of her aching limbs.

"Well, girl, it's morning, but it ain't good," Mercedes replied. Rachel heard her sigh before continuing, "Kurt showed up at my place late last night in an awful state. I wasn't able to get much out of him, but I think that he and Blaine broke up."

"Oh, no! I knew they were having some...issues, but I never thought – I mean, they've always been able to work through their problems before."

"I guess something really major went down between them, 'cause I've never seen Kurt like this, ever. Can't even get him out of bed. He's just lying there, moaning and crying. And let me tell you, he's an ugly crier. It's breaking my heart, Rachel. Do...do you think you could come over and try to talk to him? I know you probably have a lot of things to do, but I think if anyone's going to be able to make sense of this, it's you."

Mercedes sounded really sad, and she felt so badly for Kurt, so Rachel decided that of course she would offer whatever assistance she could. And she was certain that Tina would as well.

"Don't worry, Mercedes. Fortunately, I don't have any auditions scheduled for today, so my schedule is pretty much clear - " Rachel frowned, looking at her planner. "Oh, wait. The only thing we were supposed to do today was meet with our – I mean, my – new assistant." She paused to think for a moment. "Let me call Tina, and then I'll call you right back. Okay?"

"Okay, but please hurry. I'm afraid that Kurt's going to have a complete meltdown if you don't talk to him soon."

"I assure you, we are _not_ going to let that happen. I'll speak with you in a bit. Hang in there."

"All right, I'll try. Maybe in the meantime I can get him to eat something, at least. Bye, Rachel. And thanks."

"You're welcome. Goodbye, Mercedes." The call ended, and Rachel was left looking at her phone, perturbed. Strange that this had happened just as something major appeared to be going down on the magical plane. She had learned enough about magic to know that seemingly coincidental events were often tied together in some way.

The worry in Mercedes' voice had Rachel equally concerned. She was just as determined to find out what had gone on between Kurt and his now former boyfriend, and hopefully find a way to fix it, as she was to find out what the cause of the aetheric disturbance was.

Tapping Tina's name in her contacts list, she put the phone back up to her ear and waited for Tina to pick up.

"You felt it too," the magician answered, not bothering with pleasantries, as was her way when something serious was happening.

"I did. I can't tell just what it _means,_ exactly...I just know that it feels _wrong._ Really, really wrong. There's a lot of dark energy involved, energy moving back and forth."

"There is," Tina agreed. "And it's giving me a headache. I don't know how we're going to tutor Marley today. Not sure that either one of us is going to be up for it with this - _whatever_ this is - going on."

An idea occurred to Rachel. She knew how hard it was for Tina to concentrate whenever she had a magically induced headache.

"Well, maybe we don't have to tutor her today, exactly. Mercedes just called and told me that Kurt showed up at her apartment last night completely devastated because he had just broken up with Blaine."

"That's terrible news. I knew that they had their issues and all, but I didn't see this coming. Then again, Kurt doesn't tell everybody _everything_ , contrary to popular opinion. There are actually some things he likes to keep private."

"Sometimes the wrong things," Rachel said. "I'm his best friend. I wish he had talked to me before he decided to do this. But what's done is done, I suppose. Now, to get back to my earlier point - "

"About Marley?"

"Yes, about Marley. So Mercedes asked me to come by her place to try to get Kurt to talk about what happened, and I was thinking, since you're not feeling well, maybe I'll just ask our happy little apprentice to come along with me. I'm sure Mercedes won't mind. She'll enjoy talking with Marley while I have a little private chat with Kurt."

Tina laughed at that. "I'm sure. That girl can charm the pants off anybody, even without magic. By the end of the day, you know she and Mercedes will be best friends."

"That's probably true," Rachel chuckled. "She's a special one. So, let me call Mercedes back, and then I'll call Marley - "

"No, no. You just call Mercedes and I'll get in touch with Marley. Shall we let her practice her teleportation then, or do you want her to take the subway to your place?"

"Oh, why not let her have a little fun and teleport herself here. You know she's been itching to try it again."

"And practice _does_ make perfect, after all." The smile in Tina's voice made Rachel's heart flutter. To her, Tina had started off perfect and grown ever more so over the course of their relationship.

"Yay!" said Rachel. "Okay then. Tell her to get here as soon as she can, because I really don't want to keep Kurt and Mercedes waiting too much longer. Thank you, sweetie. I love you!"

"I love you too, Rachel. Call me later and tell me how everything works out, all right?"

Rachel's incandescent smile at hearing "I love you" from her girlfriend's lips could have outshone the sun. "You know I will. Bye!"

"Later."

Rachel ended the call, missing Tina's voice immediately. With a sigh, she called Mercedes back to let her know she would be on her way soon, leaving a message to that effect on Mercedes' voice mail when the other woman didn't pick up. Then she turned her attention to her closet and began trying to figure out what she was going to wear for this possibly very unpleasant meeting.

* * *

Some fifteen minutes later, Rachel was stripped down to her underwear and about to put on the outfit she'd finally decided would be appropriate for the day when she felt the fluctuation on the magical plane that signaled teleportation.

"Oh, no," she breathed, realizing that her robe was too far away for her to reach for and hastily don it in time.

A moment or two later, and Marley Rose stood in the doorway to her bedroom, with Rachel's state of undress in full view. Both women stared at each other in shock.

Then Rachel found her voice and raised it to full volume: "MARLEY!"

Snapping out of her wide-eyed trance, Marley closed her eyes and shook her head. Images of Rachel's smooth olive skin, ridiculously in-shape body and lacy pink undergarments were now seared into her mind forever - unless an enraged Tina, upon learning what had happened at some later point, decided to forcibly evict the memories from her head.

"Oh god oh god oh god Rachel I'm so sorry please forgive me I didn't mean to oh my god -" she babbled, not seeing Rachel calmly pick up her robe and slip into it.

"Marley," Rachel said, hoping she would be able to calm the girl down without having to shout again. Shouting was not good for one's voice, even if it did display one's ability to project quite well. Unfortunately, Marley failed to respond to Rachel's calm, collected voice.

" _Marley,"_ she tried again, louder this time. Still the young apprentice failed to respond, the images that had just been burned into her brain playing in an endless loop.

Rachel sighed. She'd really hoped it wouldn't come to this. Recognizing that there really wasn't any time to waste, she took an extremely deep breath and let it all out in one mighty exclamation, shouting Marley's name in a voice so loud that everyone in the neighborhood would likely have heard it if not for Tina's magical soundproofing.

(Which she had done after one too many neighbors in the building had complained about all the singing that emanated from Rachel's apartment.)

That broke the spell. Marley's head snapped up, and she let out a great sigh of relief when she realized that Rachel was now covered by a robe. The robe was still too short, exposing far too much of Rachel's impossibly long, shapely legs, but that, Marley could handle.

"Rachel, I am so, _so_ sorry. I had meant to show up in your kitchen or your living room, _anywhere_ but your bedroom, but somehow I -" she sputtered, but Rachel held up a hand to gesture for silence, and that stopped her from further embarrassing herself.

"It's all right, Marley. I understand. These things happen, especially to newly minted apprentices who haven't yet honed their skills in certain aspects of the arcane arts," Rachel said, seeking to soothe the frazzled young woman standing there hugging herself, as though she were preparing to hear the pronouncement of a death sentence after a particularly swift trial. A long pause of several moments drove her next point home with maximum force. "However, I believe you will agree when I say that it is most likely a very good idea to _never_ mention this incident to Tina. The aftermath would very probably be...less than pleasant."

Marley coughed, blinked, looked around as though expecting Tina to explode out of Rachel's closet or walk through a wall to rain fury down upon her. She knew that Tina was normally a very gentle soul, but she had also seen how intense she could be when angered. The idea of Tina being angry with her made her feel very unwell, setting off a buzzing in her stomach like a swarm of very hostile bees.

"Um, yeah. I think that would be best," she said, returning her gaze to the floor, feeling her cheeks flush hot with embarrassment once more. "I'll...I'll just go out to the living room and let you, um, get dressed. Yup. That's what I'll do."

And with that, Marley fled for the safety and solitude of Rachel's small but comfortable living room, leaving Rachel to shake her head and laugh to herself. So maybe the girl had a small crush on her. So what? Nothing would ever come of it, right? Of course not.

* * *

Ten minutes or so later, after once again reassuring Marley that everything was all right, Rachel found herself beckoning the apprentice out the door and into the elevator that would take them down to the main floor, where they would exit the building and finally get on their way to Mercedes' place.

"So no lessons today? Really?" Marley asked as they got into the subway car. "Even after that big whatever it was that happened earlier?"

" _You_ felt it too?" Rachel was astonished, not for the first time, by the girl's amazing magical sensitivity at this point in her training. Normally, at this stage, a practical novice like Marley would have felt only the barest of stirrings on the aetheric plane, if anything at all. Clearly, she was powerful, but raw and undisciplined. With their help, though, she was going to become a truly extraordinary magical practitioner – so long as nothing happened to her along the way.

"Oh, I sure did," she replied. They sat down, and Marley continued. "It woke me up, in fact. One minute I was, like, completely asleep, and the next I was sitting upright in a cold sweat, wondering just what the heck was happening. It was really weird. For a few seconds, I thought I was only dreaming."

"And how do you feel now?" Rachel was curious. She herself was still feeling a little achy, and Tina had gotten a nasty headache as a result of the violent magical disturbance they'd felt.

Marley seemed a little confused by the question. "I'm fine. Just fine. Why? Should I be feeling something?"

Again, Rachel was thrown. Just about every seasoned magician in the area, she knew, was experiencing some kind of after-effect; anyone and everyone who possessed some level of magical sensitivity would be feeling _something:_ ringing in the ears, blurred vision, various aches and pains. But Marley, apparently completely unshielded, had felt the full force of what had happened and was suffering not at all. _Amazing,_ she thought.

"Honestly, yes. The fact that you're _not,_ quite frankly, is nothing short of extraordinary. You weren't shielded, were you?"

"No," Marley admitted. "I haven't really been practicing my night shielding like I should. I know you're more vulnerable to attacks and anomalies at night, but -"

"I'm not admonishing you, Marley. Far from it. Actually, I'm saying that your powers, even with the limited training that you've had so far, are absolutely incredible. Once you learn how to hone and refine them, there's no limit, as far as I can see, as to what you'll be able to do. In fact, you're something that, to my understanding, we only see in the magical world maybe once every one hundred, one hundred fifty years or so. Despite that, we have a name for it: _savant._ "

Marley let the word roll around in her head. She'd heard the word before, obviously in a very different context, but since her entry into the magical world, she'd been learning that sometimes words that meant one thing in what she still thought of as the "real" world meant something else in the world of the arcane.

"So that's...kind of a big deal, I guess? I don't _feel_ like one," she said softly. It was true: she was just a girl from a small town in the middle of Nowhere, U.S.A., trying to find her way in the biggest city in the world. Without Tina and Rachel, she couldn't even imagine where she would be or what she might be doing.

Rachel laughed, not unkindly. It wasn't that long ago, after all, that she was young and bewildered by the strange new world that had been thrust upon her by virtue of powers she had inherited from who knew where.

"Trust me, Marley. You are. But it's good that you don't feel like one, at least not yet. You've still got a whole lot to learn. Fortunately, you've got the best teacher in the world to guide you along. Just pay attention and listen to what Tina tells you, and I'm pretty certain that you're going to end up being the biggest deal the magical world has seen in a very, very long time."

They fell silent for some time after that, each pondering what it all meant, before the train rattled to a stop and Rachel saw that it was time for them to exit and walk several blocks to Mercedes' place. She rose from her seat, Marley did the same, and moments later they were back out in the sunshine of a beautiful late New York City morning.

* * *

Elsewhere, in the depths of an enormous mansion shrouded by a dark forest of trees and an unnatural mist rising from the ground, no light shone. The candles that had been lit earlier, at the beginning of the ritual, had long since burned out, and now the three young men shackled and slumped against the cold, damp sub-basement wall moaned and writhed in a slumber induced by complete exhaustion. Their sleeping minds and bodies burned with the memory of fire, ice-white and agonizing, razor sharp fingers of pain drawing intricate symbols in a spider web of blasphemy upon their half-naked forms.

The artist responsible for their suffering found the taste of it as sweet as wine, and far more satisfying. He was aware that what he had done this day was felt by magicians all over the area, but cared not a whit. No. Let them feel, and wonder. By the time they realized what had been done – a ritual not performed in this age, as sorcerers reckoned time - it would be far too late for anyone to challenge him. He was a man now – an extremely powerful and dangerous one, no doubt, but still a man. But soon...oh, so very soon...he would be more than that. Far, far more than that.

For by the time his plans reached their full fruition, he, Russell Fabray, First Disciple of the Shadowed Path, would be a god.


End file.
